Three Nights with a Scoundrel (Stud Club #3)

Mary crossed her arms. “Absolutely not.”


“It’s the game,” Hugh insisted. “You have to kiss it.” He thrust the foul, squirming creature in her face and smacked his lips noisily. Behind him, Philip and Leo doubled with laughter.

Mary gave a little growl. Boys.

It was bad enough she had to share everything with Leo, but at least in Town, she had her own friends. Here on holiday at Braxton Hall, her choice of playmates was limited to boys or babies. Mary didn’t want to play with the babies. She wanted to play in Hugh and Philip’s splendid playhouse. It was built like a castle, with real doors and windows and furniture. But it was Hugh and Philip’s playhouse, which meant she had to pay for the privilege of enjoying it by playing along with the boys’ games.

On good days, they would let her play scullery maid to their Arthurian knights or galley wench to their pirates. In the little kitchen, she could spend happy hours weaving reeds into trivets and arranging flowers, whilst the boys dashed about with wooden daggers, looking ridiculous as anything.

Yesterday, they’d even crowned her Queen. But she must have enjoyed her power a little too much, for today she’d been demoted to Imprisoned Princess and confined to the hot, dusty turret. Hours now, and still they hadn’t rescued her. She’d all but decided to head back to the Hall to find a book, when up the ladder the boys clambered, red-faced and laughing.

And in possession of a toad.

“I will not kiss that thing. I’d rather stay imprisoned forever.” In other words, until dinner, which could not be far off. Her stomach rumbled.

“Beg for your freedom, then,” Hugh said. “Say, ‘Prithee, my lord.’”

She rolled her eyes. Hugh would never let them forget he was a duke’s son, and already Earl of Something-or-Other.

“See here,” said Philip. “Kiss the toad. Or we shan’t let you back in the playhouse again.”

Mary dug in her heels. That was one thing about always having to play with boys. A girl learned to be tenacious. “Go right ahead. My father will build me my own playhouse. Ten times grander than this old heap.”

Philip said smugly, “Your father’s not even here.”

“At least I have a father,” she shot back.

“My godfath—”

“Your godfather what?” she said, teasing. “Flew to the moon Thursday last?” Philip was always spinning wild, unbelievable tales about Mr. Faraday.

Don’t, her brother signed at her, his shoulders tight with anger. He’s my friend. It’s not kind.

A glance at Philip’s face told Mary she’d gone too far. The toad, she signed apologetically. Take it away.

Over the loud objections of his friends, Leo grabbed the toad and shoved it through the narrow turret window. She and Leo weren’t supposed to sign in front of those who couldn’t understand—it was rude, Mother always said. But at times a secret language came in useful.

“What’s this?” came a deep voice from below. “An Egyptian plague? Toads, falling from the sky.”

Mary and Leo’s gazes met. “Father!” they cried as one.

There was a mad scramble to climb down the ladder, which Mary won. She then set herself the task of climbing her father.

“Papa.” She clutched his neck and hugged tight, not even minding his rough whiskers. Even unshaven, he was much nicer to kiss than a toad. “The boys are horrid. They locked me in the turret.”

He laughed. “Well, and so I’ve come to rescue you.”

Leo stood close. He was a year younger, but he considered himself too grown up now for hugs and kisses, especially in front of his friends. He did accept a brisk rub on the head.

Mary wormed her hand downward, to her father’s side pocket. But before she could reach her prize, he set her on the ground. She and Leo had to do three sums each and correctly spell “hypotenuse” before he finally withdrew the packet of sweets.

“One last question,” he asked, holding the tantalizing treats just out of reach. “Where will I find your mother?”

“Oh, take care, darling!” Amelia rescued a chubby finger from a near miss with a thorn. She kissed the plump little hand in apology and herded her daughter back toward the mums. “Just the daisies, Claire. Only pick the daisies. Leave the roses to Mama.”

“I think I see someone coming.” From her seat beneath the canopy, Meredith looked up from fanning the blond infant slumbering in her lap. She peered into the distance. “Just there, over the rise.”

“Well, I know it won’t be our husbands.” Amelia snipped another rose. “I’d bet my last crock of winter pears, Spencer will keep Rhys at the stables all day. Perhaps it’s Claudia and Mr. Faraday, back from their walk.”